Petticoat Discipline Poster

A poster like this in his room is sure to remind him to be good.

Petticoat Discipline Magazine

Looking for some advice on petticoating him?

Sissy Training Bra for Boys

Have a naughty boy who needs some bra training?  Buy him one of these, and watch him fall into line!

Petticoat Punishment Stamps

A Few Notes About My First Story *Petticoat Memories*

I've been meaning to publish this story since the middle summer, but life has a funny way of constantly moving on.  The thing which kept me from publishing it was that I knew it needed a little editing, but never suspected all the work involved in that process.  Finally, a few days ago, I went through the story one last time, fixed what I thought needed fixing, today decided to publish it.  I guess no work ever feels complete, but I'm fairly happy with this first attempt at writing.

I've pieced these experiences together with the help of some of my submissives.  I wanted the story to have a genuine feel to it, from the male perspective, and I wanted the story to have a bit of heart.  I guess that's my reflection in the story.  Pure cruelty only goes so far in a story.  We're all humans with a need for a range of emotional experiences, not just leather, dungeons, and whipping.

I hope you enjoy this first story on this blog.  I have more that I'm working on, that I hope to publish soon.

Petticoat Memories - Chapter 1: An Angry Little Boy

Childhood was a confusing time. I don’t remember growing like a weed, I just grew. Perhaps that was the problem - I didn’t have a lot of instruction - but often was punished for my deviations in behavior. Instead of a steady boat ride down the river of life, I was an untrained driver in a speedboat, going any which way with my emotions, and this often caused problems with my parents. They often responded with quick and furious physical punishment, which I soon forgot hours after I received it, and I would return to my erratic ways.

My parents were too busy to raise me, and they didn’t seem to notice this until a visiting friend came over and witnessed one of my tantrums. My mom bought me a new lunch box, which I did not like.

“I don’t like it, I’m not using it!”

“Honey, we can’t take it back, you’ll just have to use this one, I’m sorry.”

As I argued, my frustration grew to anger. I knew I shouldn’t smash the lunch box, especially in front of company, but as I yelled, something in my inhibition gave way and my fists came down again and again, destroying it. I looked down at the tangle of metal, and knew I would be in trouble. I dreaded my punishment, but I always took it knowing that things would start anew – that was the routine. I did not know that my mother was probably embarrassed immensely in front of her friend.

Instead of judging, mother’s friend simply had a suggestion.

“There’s a lady – she lives in the country – who might be able to help with this problem. She worked with Emmanuelle’s son, and now he’s a perfect angel. If you’re open-minded, it just might work.”

The two ladies talked for hours, and as I unknowingly played in the other room, my fate had been sealed. That night, I was told that I was being sent away. The sheer horror of it, the feeling of abandonment I felt, made me cry and plead.

“I’ll be good; I promise! Please don’t send me away!”

“Chris, this is what’s best for you…for all of us. You’ll get used to it, you’ll see. And we’re not abandoning you; we’ll see you every weekend.”

I went through several bouts of emotions ranging from anger to silent sulking, however her mind was made up, and I was soon on my way out the door.

Chapter 2: Goodbye

The ride took several hours, and I stared out the window as we drove away from the city, wondering where I was going, until we pulled through the gate to a large house. It seemed a little out of place to be so far out in a rural setting. We rang the bell and were greeted by a pretty, yet serious looking young lady. Her name was Miss Samantha. As she talked, I curiously glanced from behind my mother’s legs at the lady who would now be a large part of my life. Her hair was dark and I remember noting that she wore shiny shoes. The rest of her outfit was no-nonsense: a tight black skirt and an effeminate white shirt.


“…okay, I just need you to sign these forms, and you’ll be all set Mrs. Manning.”

I tried one last chance, “Mommy, please don’t go! I’ll be good from now on I promise!”

Miss Samantha caught my gaze, “Yes you will young man, from this point on.”

I looked pleadingly back at my mother, who I could see was almost about to break. She wanted to come back and get her little boy.

“Don’t worry Miss Manning, he’s in good hands.”

I saw tears forming in my mother’s eyes, and she handed my suitcase to Miss Samantha.

I started to cry as my mom walked away. Miss Samantha put a soothing hand on my back and guided me in the house.

“It’ll be okay Chris.”